by Peter Green
In the shadows of the ancient Oak grove, a red deer stag twitched nervously and was gone in to the denseness. A fox barked a warning to its mate...
Amergin felt the piercing gaze, before he saw them... then from the sacred Oak grove, appeared the Diventii. He and his faithful ten drew their swords from their scabbards in a metallic instant. More Diventii, and more, appeared from the dense woodlands. Far too many to take on! Amergin and his ten men stood transfixed. They were surrounded, their escape route to the shore blocked. Quietly and without their realisation they had been trapped. Their captors stood in silence, watching...
Amergin took the initiative, fighting not an option. He carefully and deliberately replaced his sword in to the scabbard. His instincts then drove him to do something that shocked the advance party.
He dropped to one knee, proffering his sword to his “enemy”, “We come in peace!” The bronze hilted sword given to him by his father Milidh, glinted in the last rays of the sun. The sword, an heirloom presented to Amergin by the greatest warrior in Milesian legend, was now a peace offering. The loyal ten took his lead. They all dropped to one knee and offered their battle sharpened swords as tokens of peace. Amergin’s sense of place and time had told him that this was the right thing to do. All his instincts, all his wisdom, all his Druidic powers told him he was in the presence of kindred spirits. For all their reputation as fearsome warriors and the tales of live sacrifice, Amergin felt to the core of his being, that here were kindred souls. He wondered if the legendary tales were true. Were these the lost tribe descended from the ancients? He and his ten men were about to find out...
The spokes person for the Diventii stepped forward in all his strangeness, “I am Gerridh!” boomed a commanding yet strangely endearing figure. Amergin stood up to greet him. He was startled at the familiarity of appearance. The half shorn head, the long plait dyed in red brown henna, his costume of woven flax and armour of the consistency of dried and compressed turf. This strange other worldly figure had all the semblance of a cast of high priests still living in Northern Galicia.
“Surely, that cannot be!?” muttered Amergin quietly in disbelief. Gerridh was bedecked in ornately inscribed bronze and gold jewellery. The design was all too familiar... infinite spirals and symbols of the trinity.The trinity of truth, mythology and the destiny of a nation. Around Gerridh’s neck hung an amber amulet. A twin, an exact replica of the amulet King Milidh had given to Queen Scota at their wedding at the Temple of Japhet, on the Northern shores of Galicia, many years ago...!
Here were the descendants of the ancient ones! Here were the descendants of the originators of the prophecy! Here are the descendants of the ancient tribe of Druids that imbued and instilled the Milesian nation’s sense of destiny. Tales that have been told through the mists of time, passed down from generation to generation of Milesians.Tales of myth and legend that have sparked the imagination and fired the passions of him and his people. All these tales are true... and the truth stood before him!
“I am Amergin!” He sensed they knew his identity already. There was a collective nod of heads by the Diventii. In response to his peace offering, they lowered their swords and pikes. Encouraged by this, Amergin went on, “We are Milesians. I bring our tribes on a journey of destiny to this our Promised Land. We are on a mission of life and death. I must find my destined one, Sceine! The fate of all the enlightened ones depends on it!”
Gerridh’s smile told it all, “We have been waiting for you Amergin, Sea Druid and champion of Milesia!” He stepped forward and embraced Amergin, “Come with us! We will commune with the Guardians of Light... we will show you the way!”
Amergin and his ten faithful warriors followed Gerridh of the Diventii. They were taken deep in to the sacred Oak grove on the red earthed lower slopes of a vast round topped mountain. In a clearing in the Oak grove lay a deep, dark, mysterious pool of crystal clear, fresh, mountain water. The Diventii began to circle the pool. Amergin’s mind flashed back to the Pool of Cerces in Galicia, where he attended his first ceremonial ritual with the Chapter of Mystics. GerrIdh took a pouch from one of his druids. This contained tablets of bronze and lead. He engraved messages and questions on the tablets and with a prayer to their goddess Soulis hurled them in to the dark, mirror surfaced pool, “Water of Life, grant us the power to see our way forward.” Miraculously, no sooner had the tablets disappeared in to the depths, the reflective mirrored surface began to form images... The first of the shimmering reflections shocked them all... the Temple of Xhara being inundated by the advancing hordes of the army of lost souls, and the dark one MacCuacht revelling in the darkness of the Eastern Province. The reflections shimmered and flickered, revealing the canyon through the range of round topped mountains. A dissolving image showed a great portal in the Western Province and the high mountain fortress of Sliebh Mis and the beautiful High Priestess of Xhara and Princess of the Western Province, Sceine... the reflective images vanished and the dark, mirrored surface of the pool remained. “You have been shown your way Amergin! You and your warriors must go west. We will take you through the mountains,” and he added with real emotion, “The waters of Life in the Eastern Province are infected with the foul pestilence of the dark Sidhe... and the infection spreads!”
Gerridh implored Amergin, “For the sake of this Island of Destiny find your beloved Sceine and protect the Western Province!”
*
That evening the signal beacon roared in to life, burning bright in the gathering dusk. “The sign!” and the Milesian mariners hurried to make the fleet fast and safe. All barring a small security contingent were soon rowing for the shore...
Whilst the Diventii gathered provisions together for their journey through the mountains, Gerridh and Amergin conversed at the fireside. This was a meeting of minds and of kindred spirits. Through the night they talked, swapping ancient tales and stories of the Milesian nation. Amergin learned how the ancestors of the Diventii tribe, Milesian Sea Druids like himself journeyed over the Northern Ocean. Their vessels were destroyed in a tempest. They were stranded and became land bound.
Slowly, the marine skills and seamanship were lost through the generations. They found sanctuary in the lands on the southern shores of the Island of Destiny. The ancestors soon became faithful servants of the goddess Soulis. The Waters of Life became the conduit through which they could journey beyond the veil. Gerridh told of how his ancestors befriended the Sidhe who journeyed in to the mortal realm as the Guardians of Light. Together they became the enlightened ones.
Gerridh explained how the salvation of the Promised Land depended on the continuation of the enlightened ones. Messages had been sent beyond the veil to the Milesian nation, to the Chapter of Mystics, to find their champion, to find the most enlightened being of their nation. Through these messages the prophecy of all Milesians was perpetuated... the enlightened champion would journey to the Island of Destiny... to meet the most enlightened being of this island... together, the Island of Destiny has a chance ... apart the dark Sidhe will prevail... “You are that enlightened one Amergin!”
Gerridh exclaimed from the heart, “You are destined to be with the High Priestess Sceine! Your progeny will inherit this land and bring enlightenment to all!”
Gerridh and select Druids gathered at the pool, named after the goddess Soulis. Amergin was invited to join them.Once more they inscribed messages on palm sized lead and bronze tablets. This was a ritual before every journey. Amergin was given a tablet. He would be the first to make an offering to the goddess...
The Sea Druid Amergin knelt beside the pool, now encircled by the Diventii. He peered through the high canopy of the great, ancient Oaks, trees centuries old, magnificent and gnarled with twisted and contorted branches spreading out over the pool, reflecting in the silver-black surface. Again his mind flashed back to Galicia, to the Pool of Cerces and his first encounter with Gonne of the Chapter of Mystics. He remembered how he was taken deep in to the sacred waters and was being drawn towar
ds the dark Sidhe, only to be rescued by the Guardians of Light and his beloved High Priestess Sceine. Those days of the ordeal an age away now...
Gerridh took his place on the edge of the pool. He stood on a red earth platform and began the ritual ceremony with religious incantations. He gestured to Amergin to join him. The high canopy swayed in harmony with the chanting, “A storm from the West!” thought the mariner in him... Amergin was so glad he had chosen the over land path.
Gerridh channelled this natural energy... the veil between the spirit world and the mortal realm rose to the reflective surface. Amergin sensed this was his moment. He threw his inscribed tablet in to the Waters of Life. Gerridh chanted to the goddess Soulis... a familiar amber cosmos began to percolate mysteriously from the depths... strange morphing creatures of the Light swirled upwards towards the surface... a vision of beauty formed... Sceine! She came in response to his message. The journey to come would be fraught with danger... she brought her message... “Travel safely, my beloved... I will be with you always!”
Sceine was in his head now. Her voice spoke only to him, “You have chosen the path well my beloved! The Diventii will guide you through the Canyon of Sorrow. Beware the Banshee of Mordha, this is their realm! Do not travel at night!” she implored him, “From the canyon you and your tribes will travel alone. You will follow the river through the extremities of the Eastern Province. Do not drink the water here, the darkness infects it! You will come to the Lake of the Dead. From the lake you must strike up to the high ground, through the Pass of Cathsin and upwards to the Mountain of Foran in the Iveare range. Here you will find a lone standing stone on the ridge overlooking the Western Province. The stone is dedicated to Mor. The daughter of the sun, married to the sea god Manannan. From here the Guardians of Light will be with you and they will guide you to me! Until you reach the standing stone never venture off the path, the land harbours the demons and denizens of the dark Sidhe! Hurry my love! The dark one MacCuacht marches back to his high mountain fortress of Hawardden. From there he marches to Sliebh Mis to find me. His army of lost souls strengthens all the time! Hurry! I wait for you! Come to me!” The shimmering vision of Sceine began to recede in to the silver-black reflective depths of the pool... “Hurry my love!”... The amber cosmos vanished and on impulse, Amergin stripped off his clothes and dove in deep in to the frigid waters... Swimming deep and powerfully he was able to connect with her shimmering form... they embraced, her pure energy coursing through him... their love unbounded... a moment of pure bliss and he came to the surface joyously!
From the distant canyon, a mournful cry split the cooling night air. The Banshee of Mordha awaits them…
The frigid waters of the pool still dripping from him, the cry out of the darkness made him shudder uncontrollably. They must heed Sceine’s warning!
Drifting in and out of a fitful sleep, Amergin rested by the fire, gratefully lit by the Diventii. Dry and warm now, they waited for the dawn... the journey would continue...
Gerridh greeted Amergin as the first rays of dawn percolated through the Oak canopy, “Your warriors have been given a bag full of provisions and water, sufficient for the two days march to the Mountains of Iveare. The sun rises, the realm of the Banshee is safe. We must go now! The march through the Canyon of Sorrow is long and arduous and the sun sets early there. Behind the round topped mountains, the light fades fast. You must lead your warriors bravely Amergin!” Gerridh handed Amergin a woven, flax bag, stuffed full of unleven bread, mountain goat cheese and strips of sea salted and dried kelp. This he slung over his shoulder together with the goat skin water carrier. “None of the natural water can be drunk until you climb high in to the Iveare Mountains!” Gerridh pointed out. Amergin told Gerridh of his experiences on the eastern shores, that there still were places free of the foul pestilence. As he related his tales, beads of cold sweat appeared on his brow. The prospect of the pestilence arriving in the Western Province was too much to bear...
The Milesians followed in the footsteps of the Diventii, the lead taken by Gerridh. Amergin walked beside him... they both revelled in the richness of the sacred Oak groves... so verdant, such a diversity of life. For two hours they walked through the woodlands. Red deer, camouflaged in the trees, the green woodpecker knocked on the ancient Oaks, ravens and crows raucously called their warnings as they marched through, golden eagles soared overhead. Every turn of the path, there was more life... a place of origin, protected by the mountains and the forebidding Canyon of Sorrow.
Already the sun climbed high in the canyon. This was such a forlorn place... what a contrast! The rich tapestry of life in the woodlands and here, desolation!
They left the green carpeted track behind... now a boulder strewn, rugged mountain track, climbing steeply. Each step was laboured and deliberate, picking their way through a minefield of rockfalls and ancient glaciations. Far in to the distance over miles and miles of treacherous terrain, a high mountain pass. Beyond this, the extreme margins of the Eastern Province, the realm of the dark one MacCuacht. At this juncture Amergin questioned his decision to go overland to the high mountain fortress of Sliebh Mis on the western side of the Iveare Mountains. As he thought this, a blast of icy mountain air hit him and Gerridh full square, making them lean in to the gale to keep their balance.
One look at the skyline and the approaching storm front reassured Amergin the right choice had been made. He was convinced now that they were on the right path, and hadn’t the secret of the Prophecy been unlocked too! He turned to observe Gerridh, the descendant of the ancient Druids.
Amergin was destined to take this path. He strode on with real purpose now…
The watery sun dipping in and out of building storm clouds was on a speedy trajectory today. The boulder strewn, ever steepening track was taking forever to negotiate. Gerridh knew the way, but even so the track was virtually impassable in places. Time stood still, progress painfully slow, and still the sun tracked across the canyon. Mid afternoon now and they didn’t even appear to be halfway.
Gerridh looked furtively up at the sky, checking the progress of the sun. He looked back to see the Diventii mountain guides and the Milesians stretched out for miles. He had never made this journey with so many! He and Amergin exchanged glances. No words were necessary. They just pressed on. They were beyond the point of no return. The Canyon of Sorrow was living up to its name. This was the realm of the Banshee. Night time was their domain...
The further in to the canyon, the narrower the window of daylight became. Normal calculations of time of sunset had to be dispensed with. The higher they climbed, the further they marched, the less time they had. Time until the sun dipped behind the mountains. The shadows lengthened and darkened. All too soon a line of creeping darkness began to cross the canyon. “An hour maximum!” estimated Amergin. The cold beads of sweat reappeared on his furrowed brow, even though his body was over heating with the exertion of the climb. As if to exacerbate their plight a blood curdling cry chilled the mountain air. The domain of the Banshee approached!
A race against time! The shadow cast by the mountain growing. Gerridh pointed the way to Amergin, “Go first, you must be safe!” Amergin looked upwards.The final stage, a steep scree run, with loose boulders ready to dislodge and collide with any undiscerning climber. Three steps forward and two back in the loose mountain scree. Progress so slow, the high ridge still bathed in daylight seemed an age away. The exertion, the effort, began to take its toll... impossible to track straight up the scree run. Amergin began to traverse, making more headway now, but the route longer... akin to tacking in to a strengthening head wind... slow and arduous! He stopped for a moment, a brief respite, blowing hard, his heart pounding, blood pressure maxing.The shadow of the mountain now engulfing the lower track. Many Milesians were yet to reach the scree run…the shadow creeping…Many of his countrymen becoming potential prey to the Banshee.
“Don’t look back!” yelled Gerridh, “Keep moving! Stay in the daylight! The Banshee will
know who you are. They come from the underworld... they are in league with the dark Sidhe!”
This galvanised Amergin, he pushed on even harder... there was an optimum speed... too fast and too much scree would slip away.Steadily with deliberate strides... on and on... upwards and upwards...chasing the daylight like a drowning man gasping for oxygen. The window of daylight receding, he gave a final last push. He was on the verge of exhaustion. Ten more traverses and he would be there! He ran now! He ran for his life! A precariously placed boulder broke free and hurtled down the slope, “Look out below!” In the corner of his eye he saw Gerridh, fellow Diventii and Milesians leap to one side to avoid certain death!
In that moment he too threw himself on to the final stretch of scree! The gradient eased and he sprinted to the top of the ridge. He fell in a collapsed heap, hyperventilating like a marathon runner hitting the wall. Blowing hard in recovery mode, a shaft of welcoming sunlight swept through, now dancing over the mountain tops, now hiding behind the burgeoning storm clouds. Gerridh arrived next and one by one the Diventii mountain guides, the Milesians were too slow... They were mariners, not mountaineers! “You must keep going Amergin! Even here on the high ridge, daylight will soon go! We must reach the Lake of the Dead, here you will be safe. The spirits of our ancestors will protect you...” Milesians now began to arrive, friendly faces... Xomas, MacCuill, Eiremhou! “At least they are safe!” thought Amergin. He feared for the others... the Canyon of Sorrow in virtual darkness now. The shadow complete ...Amergin turned away, to continue on the path. Even here on the high ridge daylight was dwindling. The track was easier now, following a tumbling mountain stream on its downward course to the Lake of the Dead. No more than a few minutes on this track, the first of a series of blood curdling screams cut them to the core. Each scream, the loss of a good soul, another recruit for the dark army! Amergin whinced in empathetic pain, he cried out in despair at the demise of good men, Milesian mariners wanting only for a decent sea burial, whilst fighting for the cause of the Light.
